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SONGS FOR THE UNION. 


how McClellan took manassas. 

BY OLD NAPOLEON. 

Heard ye how the bold McClellan— 

He, the wether with the bell on ; 

He, the head of all the asses— 

Heard ye how he took Manassas ? 

When the Anaconda plucky 
Flopped its tail in old Kentucky; 

When up stream the gunboats paddled, 
And the thieving Floyd skedaddled, 

Then the chief of all the asses 
Heard the word : Go, take Manassas ! 

Forty brigades wait around him, 

Forty blatant trumpets sound him, 

As the pink of all the heroes 
Since the time of fiddling Neros : 

“Now’s the time,” cry out the masses, 

“ Show your pluck and take Manassas ! ” 

Contrabands come flocking to him : 

“ Lo ! the enemy fljes—pursue him ! ” 
“No,” says George, “don’t start a trigger 
On the word of any nigger ; 

Let no more of the rascals pass us, 

I know all about Manassas.” 

When at last a prowling Yankee— 

No doubt long, and lean, and lanky— 
Looking out for new devises, 

Took the wooden guns as prizes, 

Says he: “I sweow, ere daylight passes, 
I’ll take a peep at famed Manassas.” 


Printed for the Union Congressional Committee by John A. Gray & Green, New-York. 





2 


SONGS FOR THE UNION. 


Then up the trenches boldly 
Marched he—they received him coldly; 
Nary reb was there to stop him, 

Nary Minie-ball to drop him; 

Gathering courage, in he passes : 
“Jerusalem! I’ve took Manassas.” 

Bold McClellan heard the story: 

“ Onward, men, to fields of glory ; 

Let us show the rebel foemen, 

When we’re ready we’re not slow, men; 
Wait no more for springing grasses— 
Onward ! onward! to Manassas ! ” 

Baggage-trains are left behind him, 

In his eagerness to find them ; 

Upward the balloons ascended, 

To see which way the rebels tended; 
Thirty miles aSvay his glasses 
Swept the horizon round Manassas. 

Out of sight, the foe, retreating, 
Answered back no hostile greeting; 

None could tell, as off he paddled, 
Whitherward he had skedaddled. 

Then the chief of all the asses 
Cried: “ Hurrah ! I’ve got Manassas.” 

Future days will tell the wonder, 

How the mighty Anaconda 
Lay supine along the border, 

With the mighty Mac to lord her ; 

Tell on shaft and storied brasses 
How he took the famed Manassas. 


THE BATTLE-CRY OF FREEDOM. 

Yes, we’ll rally round the flag, boys, 

We’ll rally once again, 

Shouting the battle-cry of Freedom; 

We will rally from the hill-side, 

We will rally from the plain, 

Shouting the battle-cry of Freedom. 

The Union forever! Hurrah, boys, hurrah! 
Down with the traitors, up with the Stars; 
While we rally round the flag, boys, 

Rally once again, 

Shouting the battle-cry of Freedom. 



SONGS FOR THE UNION. 


* 


We are springing to the call 
Of our brothers gone before, 
Shouting the battle-cry of Freedom; 
And we’ll fill the vacant ranks 
With ^ million freemen more, 
Shouting the battle-cry of Freedom. 
The Union forever, etc. 

We will welcome to our number 
The loyal, true, and brave, 

Shouting the battle-cry of Freedom ; 
And although he may be poor, 

He shall never be a slave, 

Shoutipg the battle-cry of Freedom. 
The Union forever, etc. 

We are springing to the call, 

From the East and from the West, 
Shouting the battle-cry of Freedom; 
And we’ll hurl the rebel crew 
From the land we love the best, 
Shouting the battle-cry of Freedom. 
The Union forever, etc. 

We are marching to the field, boys, 
Going to the fight, 

Shouting the battle-cry of Freedom; 
And we’ll bear the glorious Stars 
Of the Union and the Right, 
Shouting the battle-cry of Freedom. 
The Union forever, etc. 

We’ll meet the rebel host, boys, 

With fearless hearts and true, 
Shouting the battle-cry of Freedom ; 
And we’ll show what Uncle Sam 
Has for loyal men to do, 

Shouting the battle-cry of Freedom. 
The Union forever, etc. 

If we fall amid the fray, boys, 

We will face them to the last, 
Shouting the battle-cry of Freedom ; 
And our comrades brave shall hear us, 
As we are rushing past, 

Shouting the battle-cry of Freedom. 
The Union forever, etc. 

Yes, for Liberty and Union, 

We are springing to the fight, 
Shouting the battle-cry of Freedom ; 


4 


SONGS FOR THE UNION. 


And the victory shall be ours, 
Forever rising in our might, 
Shouting the battle-cry of Freedom. 
. The Union forever, etc. 


THE JOHN BROWN SONG. 

BY HENRY H. BROWNELL. 

Old John Brown lies a-mouldering in the grave, 

Old John Brown lies slumbering in his grave— 

But John Brown’s soul is marching with the brave, 

His soul is marching on. 

Glory, glory, hallelujah! 

Glory, glory, hallelujah! 

Glory, glory, hallelujah ! 

His soul is marching on. 

He has gone to be a soldier in the army of the Lord, 

He is sworn as a private in the ranks of the Lord— 

He shall stand at Armageddon with his brave old sword— 
When heaven is marching on. 

Glory, glory, hallelujah, etc. 

For heaven is marching on. 

He shall file in front where the lines of battle form, 

He shall face to front when the squares of battle form— 
Time with the column, and charge with the storm, 

Where men are marching on. • 

Glory, glory, hallelujah, etc. 

True men are marching on. 

Ah! foul tyrants ! do ye hear him where he comes ? 

Ah ! black traitors ! do ye know him as he comes, 

In thunder of the cannon and roll of the drums, 

As we go marching on ? 

Glory, glory, hallelujah, etc. 

We all are marching on. 

Men may die, and moulder in the dust, 

Men may die, and arise again from dust, 

Shoulder to shoulder, in the ranks of the just, 

When heaven is marching on. 

Glory, glory, hallelujah, etc. 

The Lord is marching on. 



SONGS FOR THE UNION. 


6 


TARDY GEORGE. 

Wiiat are you waiting for, George, I pray? 

To scour your cross-belts with fresh pipe-clay? 

To bwrnish your buttons, to brighten your guns; 

Or wait you for May-day and warm spring suns ? 

Are you blowing your lingers because they are cold, 

Or catching your breath ere you take a hold ? 

Is the mud knee-deep in valley and gorge ? 

What are you waiting for, tardy George ? 

Want you a thousand more cannon made, 

To add to the thousand now arrayed ? 

Want you more men, more money to pay? 

Are not two inillions enough per day ? 

Wait you for gold and credit to go, 

Before we shall see your martial show ; 

Till Treasury Notes will not pay to forge ? 

What are you waiting for, tardy George ? 

Are you waiting for your hair to turn, 

Your heart to soften, your bowels to yearn 
A little more toward “ our Southern friends,” 

As at home and abroad they work their ends ? 

“ Our Southern frieq^ls k” whom you hold so dear, 

That you do no harm and give no fear, 

As you tenderly take them by the gorge— 

What are you waiting for, tardy George ? 

Now that you’ve marshalled your whole command, 
Planned what you would, and changed what you plana-wl; 
Practised with shot and practised with shell, 

Know to a hair where every one fell, 

Made signs by day and signals by night; 

Was it all done to keep out of a fight? 

Is the whole matter too heavy a charge ? 

What are you waiting for, tardy George ? 

Shall we have more speeches, more reviews? 

Or are you waiting to hear the news; 

To hold up your hands in mute surprise, 

When France and England shall “ recognize ” ? 

Are you too grand to fight traitors small ? 

Must you have a nation to cope withal ? 

Well, hammer the anvil and blow the forge— 

You’ll soon have a dozen, tardy George. 

Suppose for a moment, George, my friend— 

Just for a moment—you condescend 
To use the means that are in your hands, 

The eager muskets and guns and brands; 

♦ 



SONGS FOR THE UNION. 


Take one bold step on the Southern sod, 

And leave the issue to watchful God! 

For now the nation raises its gorge, 

Waiting and watching you, tardy George! 

I should not much wonder, George, my boy, 

If Stanton get in his head a toy, 

And some fine morning, ere you are out, 

He send you all “to the right about”— 

You and Jomini, and all the crew 

Who think that war is nothing to do 

But to drill and cypher, and hammer and forge— 

What are you waiting for, tardy George ? 


WHEN THIS ’LECTION WAR IS OYER. 

BY THE CHICAGO BARD. 

Air : When this Cruel War is Over. 

Dearest South, do you remember 
When we last did meet, 

How we told you that we loved you, 
Kneeling at your feet ? 

Oh! how proud j^ou stood before us, 
Asking what we’d do ; 

And we vowed to one another 
Ever to be true. 

Weeping now and lonely, 

Hopes and fears how vain, 

Yet praying, 

When this ’lection war is over, 

Praying that we meet again. 

While the autumn breeze is sighing 
Mournfully along, 

And the army men are fighting, 

We shall go it strong. 

Even now we see thee lying 
Prostrate on the plain— 

Oh ! hold out a little longer, 

Peace will come again. 

Weeping now and lonely, 

Hope we have again, 

While saying: 

When this ’lection war is over, 

You will then be right again. 

We will stop the din of battle, 

Bloody war shall cease, 

And then we’ll meet together, 

You shall offer peace. 




SONGS FOR THE UNION. 


7 


We will tell you we are sorry, 

We wilL soothe your pain, 

And give you back your negroes— 

Be your slaves again. 

Weeping now and lonely, 

Hope we have again, 

While saying: 

When this ’lection war is over, 

You shall have your way again. 

In the mean time, O our darling! 

We would cheer your way, 

While the “brutal Grant” is fighting 
We will say our say. 

Nobly strike for negro bondage, 

Let all nations see, 

Though both North and South should perish, , 
Negroes shan’t be free. 

Weeping now and lonely, 

Hope we have again, 

While saying: 

When this ’lection war is over 
You shall Master be again. 


AM I FOR PEACE? —YES! 

BY DANIEL S. DICKINSON. 

For the peace which rings out from the cannon’s throat, 
And the suasion of shot and shell, 

Till Rebellion’s spirit is trampled down 
To the depths of its kindred hell. 

For the peace which shall follow the squadron’s tramp, 
Where the brazen trumpets bray, 

And, drunk with the fury of storm and strife, 

The blood-red chargers neigh. 

For the peace that shall wash out the leprous stain 
Of our slavery—foul and grim, 

And shall sunder the fetters which creak and clank 
On the down-trodden dark man’s limb. 

I will curse him as traitor, and false of heart, 

Who would shrink from the conflict now; 

And will stamp it, with blistering, burning brand, 

On his hideous Cain-like brow. 

Out! out of the way! with your spurious peace, 

Which would make us Rebellion’s slaves; 

We will rescue our land from the traitorous grasp, 

Or cover it over with graves. 




8 


SONG& FOR THE UNION. 


Out! out of the way ! with your knavish schemes, 
You trembling and trading pack! 

Crouch away in the dark, like a sneaking hound, 
That its master has beaten back. 

You would barter the fruit of our fathers’ blood, 
And sell out the Stripes and Stars, 

To purchase a place with Rebellion’s votes, 

Or escape from Rebellion’s scars. 

By the widow’s wail, by the mother’s tears, 

By the orphans who cry for bread, 

By our sons who fell, we will never yield 
Till Rebellion’s soul is dead. 


ODE TO ABRAHAM. 

Let traitors rave and tories wdiine, 

Stick to it, Abraham, don’t resign ; 

Your cause is just, the people true, 

Let rebels growl, but put them through. 

The people called you to the chair, 

And legally they placed you there; 

They don’t regret the choice they made, 
Nor .will they fail to give you aid. 

In guiding safe the Ship of State, 

Cares you have and trials great; 

Beset you are on every side, 

Do what you will you are belied. 

If Breckinridge had carried the day, 
There’d be no war, his followers say; 

No war of course could be maintained 
’Gainst cruel knaves with freedom chained. 

Though many a brave and valiant son 
Must die before our warring’s done 
Our fathers’ land shall yet be free 
Away with chains and slavery! 

Let those who’re rebels in disguise 
Go down with Jeff and sympathize 
If they want traitors, let them go 
To Dixie’s land where traitors grow. 

In ’Seventy-six our fathers saw 
Just suck tories hung by law; 

In ’Sixty-four their children see 
Many unhung, who ought to be. 


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